Imprisoned in the Bargello
in the heart of historic Florence
the young bronze David stands alone, 
a runway model ready to be admired 
from across the second floor gallery.

Slim, youthful body posed,
clothed only in cocked hat and sandals, 
a sure foot resting on the severed head 
and helmet of the vanquished Philistine 
as if it were all in a day’s work,
a mere stone’s throw from the ordinary.

The soft curves of his molded body, 
dreamy grace, slight smile and
plume of feathers from Goliath’s helmet 
that stroke his inner thigh
hide the hard metal that lies beneath.

He has not aged or tired these five hundred years, 
bronze brightness neither dulled nor
diminished by his great marble self
a few blocks away.

Here no crowds wait in line.
No souvenir gift shop replicas.
The mind will remember
youth’s arrogance and beauty—
David not yet grown into his own Goliath.